The Three Graces of Val-Kill

by Emily Herring Wilson

  As to whose idea it was to build the cottage, Marion said it was Franklin’s, in a story historians have repeated with only slight variation as to his exact words. Maybe it happened just that way, but Marion was adroit at handling Franklin and willing to give him credit for most things. He had a keen awareness of ownership—as soon as he proposed that they build a cottage, he reminded them that he owned the property and could do what he wanted to with it without asking Mama; he would give them a lifetime lease to about eight acres. He did not say he would pay for constructing the cottage, or that he would own it.

  Franklin was an acquisitive fellow. He loved buying up the property around Springwood, which belonged to his mother and would come to him only at her death. In 1911 he had bought the large Bennett Farm with a house and 194 acres at a cost of $10,000. The farm was divided almost in half by Fall-Kill Creek, and a particular site along the banks had become the family’s favorite picnic site. Franklin had primitive roads cut from the Big House to Val-Kill so that when he began driving again in 1926 (in a car with hand controls) he could have a sense of freedom, out of sight of the parallel exercise bars he had installed on the front lawn at Springwood and the avenue from the Big House to the road, where he struggled to walk with crutches.

  Regardless of whose idea it was to build the cottage at Val-Kill, all agreed that it made sense: they all enjoyed the picnics, Sara closed up the Big House for the winter when there were still weekends they could enjoy in Hyde Park, Franklin owned the property—why not build a cottage! Several months later Franklin and the three women signed a legal agreement that the property would revert to Franklin’s estate at the women’s deaths. Even before the legal papers were signed, the foundation had been dug and the future was in sight. Franklin, who had been swimming in the indoor pools of neighbors, was especially eager to divert the creek to make a small swimming hole near the cottage.

  It is possible that Eleanor, Marion, and Nan had already been discussing owning a place together before that late-summer picnic when it was decided. They had become a threesome, working in women’s politics in New York; sharing responsibilities for the children, especially the two youngest boys; and traveling together from their respective houses in the city for weekends at Hyde Park. In her first autobiography, This I Remember, Eleanor does not say how the idea originated: she merely says that Franklin “helped to design and build a stone cottage.” She acknowledges that Franklin chose the style (Dutch colonial), the architect (Henry Toombs), and the contractor (Henry Clinton). It was Franklin’s decision to use as much fieldstone for the walls and chimneys as could be harvested from old walls on his property, pulled out of the fields with horses.

  If the women had wanted to choose their own design, they would have had to stand up to Franklin, which they may not have been ready to do. But perhaps they had no reason to object to Franklin’s ideas. And why would they? It is likely that the planned fieldstone walls and chimneys appealed as much to them as to Franklin—both Marion and Nan had grown up in traditional two-story clapboard houses reflective of middle-class Victorian taste in small Upstate New York towns. In building a house of their own, the women could put down roots in the Hudson Valley they all loved in a house that reflected the region’s particular history and geography.

  Franklin made building decisions, but Nan insisted on keeping her hand on the design. She was the first to make drawings for the cottage, and she made a wooden model of it. Toombs did not like her preliminary sketches but apparently was satisfied that he could work with her. They sometimes thought of themselves as partners in design over Franklin’s objections. Nan and Toombs had agreed to place a large Palladian window in the main room but withdrew their suggestion when Franklin said it was not Dutch colonial and if the window was there he would not visit the house. They heard the threat, whether exaggerated or serious, and a chimney with a big fireplace took the place of the window. Franklin also voted down dormer windows.

  The preliminary plan for the cottage, dated 7 May 1925, lists the structure as a “residence for Miss Nancy Cook & Miss Marion Dickerman Hyde Park, New York.”1 The absence of Eleanor’s name suggests that she was not present onsite when the plan was submitted; the house by signed agreement belonged to the three of them. Although Eleanor often differed with Franklin in the design details, she trusted Marion and Nan to represent her interests with him. That was not always easy. Franklin was by turns playful and willful, and the women had to learn how to negotiate with him. They took for granted that they had no need to negotiate with one another.

  A recently discovered six-page letter from Marion to Franklin in a box of FDR’s receipts highlights her relationship to the family. The letter was handwritten on Marion and Nan’s stationery at 1271 West 12th Street, New York City, and it was sent to Franklin, who was in Warm Springs with Missy LeHand.2

  Sunday [early spring 1925]

  Dear Franklin,

  Indeed we needed you on Saturday when Eleanor, Nan, Elliott, the two little boys [Franklin Jr. and John] and I went up to Hyde Park for that was the day that Mr. Brown [unidentified] meet [sic] us there. He was enchanted with the spot which was charming for the sun was warm, the buds just beginning to swell and the birds chirping everywhere. Mr. Brown said at once, “The living room must face south; the axis of the house is all wrong, that tree should be the determining point,” etc., many, many ideas and most of them excellent ones. The poor house however has been quite abruptly changed so as to almost face south; there is again a tiny cellar and a hot air furnace. A whole new set of plans must be done and Henry [Toombs] is working on them this week so perhaps we will be sending them to you in about a week.

  I am enclosing a picture of the car [which E M N shared]. . . . It is much “better than it looks” in the picture but it was hard to take indoors. The other picture is to show you how high the brook is. We want to put in a little, tiny dam so as to keep it most as high for it is fascinating.

  Later we motored to Beacon where Nan and I were to take the train to New York and the rest were to go to Newburgh but the “Cadillac” behaved so badly that we reached the station only to see the train pulling out. I couldn’t miss it for it was my brother’s birthday and I was due home for dinner so we ran. It sounds absurd but between the kindness of the brakeman, a friendly engineer and one or two others we reached the train, climbed up on the rear car and with a drier throat than you have ever seen sank into our seats with a fair prayer for “normalcy” by the time we reached New York.

  Eleanor and the big boys [James and Elliott] are coming down for dinner so I reckon I better take Nan from her carpentening [sic] and think of food.

  Take a good swim for me, give my love to “Missy” and come back soon. I miss you lots.

  Lovingly, Marion

  The women began depositing money into the house account on 23 March 1925; the first deposits were $20 each from Eleanor and Nan; a year later they had accumulated $15,500, with contributions from the three friends about equal. Franklin felt that the first bid the women had received for the construction was too high, and he succeeded in having it lowered by several thousand dollars. Then, as sometimes now, a woman conducting her own business could expect to be asked for the man of the house when a decision was to be made. Franklin was that man. He gave instructions to the architect and to the contractor and workmen, and he paid the bills with Eleanor’s, Marion’s, and Nan’s money from their joint account. The archives at the Franklin D. Roosevelt Library include a file of receipts, letters, and scraps of paper, much like what any one of us would throw in a drawer during a building project. Impressive in their scope, they reveal that FDR was involved at every step of the construction, keeping handwritten notes of the costs.

  Franklin found overseeing the cottage a welcome distraction, and he was faithful for a man whose ability to summon enough will to get out of bed was sometimes lacking. A handwritten document (“Bills paid by FDR”) shows that the first bill he paid on 25 July was for “hauling stones, $166” and “foundati
ons $222.30.” Letters from providers sometimes remind Mr. Roosevelt “again” that their funds are short and he really needs to pay his bills; a few are quite insistent. Marion and Nan are frequently referenced about building matters, Eleanor less so. Franklin did a good deal of business with the local bank and construction firms in Poughkeepsie, as well as ordering special items from places in New York and New Jersey. Eleanor and Nan took particular pride in the fact that local workmen were employed for most of the construction jobs. All of them—Franklin, Eleanor, Marion, and Nan—sometimes together, often at different times, were eager to see the progress made after their absences.

  When the costs were added up—about $10,000 for the cottage, $1,939 for the furnishings, and $3,350 for outside work—receipts and disbursements were almost exactly the same among Eleanor, Marion, and Nan. Franklin and Eleanor often accused each other of knowing nothing about finance (public or private), so perhaps this was the first time that together they balanced the books.

  Franklin left landscaping the two or three acres to the women, except for protecting trees (and there were almost no substantial trees on the building site). Nan knew they wanted to keep the natural look and in time to add gardens. She began to think about flowerbeds and patios, but she could not begin to do the actual work until the construction phase was over. She assumed the major cost of “out-side improvements”: Eleanor and Marion put about $500 each into that account; Nan, more than $8,000. Over the next years she ordered seeds and plants, often from Henderson & Company, noted horticulturalists with a large catalog business and offices in New Jersey and New York City, and began to plant gardens.

  Eleanor and Marion likewise recognized Nan’s expertise when it came to furnishing the cottage, and they wanted her to design things for their home in a small furniture workshop onsite, which first appeared on architectural plans as a room inside the house (a subject explored in the next chapter). They ordered appliances—a Chambers gas stove and an electric ice box. For upholstered furniture they bought a sofa and chairs from John Wanamaker & Company in New York. The linens came from Macy’s and from Lord & Taylor and likely were selected when the women were together in the city. Building and furnishing a house is always a time of stressful exhilaration, not a time for quiet contemplation. But there were times as the cottage rose through the mist off the pond when the three friends must have privately experienced a dream of the house’s future and of beauty and modesty and having simple meals by the fire.

  The cottage plans called for a main building and a northeast ell that was to be the small workshop for Nan. Each section had a gabled roof. The plans for the inside seem to reflect the women’s shared interests. This was a place that related to its setting: a large screened porch across the front looked toward the pond and the bridge over which guests would be seen and heard arriving when the cottage was finished. The spacious two-story main room served as a living and dining room. It was defined by the high ceiling and handsome oak floors. (Franklin estimated that if Nan used some of his big oak trees, it would cost her $12 per square foot; it is not clear whether she agreed to the purchase.) The room had impressive wooden beams in the vaulted ceilings and a handsome flagstone fireplace at the south end where three friends could sit by the hearth, and a corner for Eleanor’s desk. Off the main room were a kitchen and a pantry, a novelty for Eleanor, who was not permitted in Sara’s kitchen (and perhaps had never asked to be there). Eleanor’s one culinary accomplishment was scrambling eggs in a chafing dish for the family on Sunday night in the townhouse after the cooks had gone. Nan liked to cook, though, and she designed the kitchen with open counter spaces and cabinets.

  From the living and dining room the women could enter a smaller room that had originally been intended for Nan’s workshop until it became clear that she would need more space to build large furniture. It then became a studio with an inglenook where the friends could sit by the fire. It was an intimate space, sheltered from the front of the house, tucked in. On the front next to the main room was a guest room sharing the chimney with the studio, and a bath. Up a flight of stairs with a small landing was a large dormitory-like room with a bath. The floor plan would be changed over the years, but in 1926 Eleanor, Marion, and Nan delighted in sleeping in the same room dormitory-style as if they were college girls. Come summer, patios and the swimming pool that had been dug out of the pond fed by the creek (and later was improved) would begin to define the cottage as a place for outdoor recreation and would become a focal point for picnics throughout FDR’s presidency.

  On 1 January 1926, the cottage was not yet ready for full occupancy, but Eleanor, Marion, and Nan invited Franklin, Sara, Brud, John, and one of Franklin’s physical therapists to come to dinner to celebrate the near-completion. They sat on nail kegs and ate on boards resting on sawhorses. When the therapist suggested that they all make a seat and carry Franklin to the table, he would have none of it and crawled there on his own.3 He was able to move himself about with his arms now, particularly outside on the grass, although it was sometimes distressing for others to watch. Several years earlier, when Eleanor had seen his efforts for the first time in the house on East 65th Street, she had burst into tears and run from the room. He perfected his sporting mode on the banks of the Val-Kill.

  Lunch proceeded, and afterward Franklin organized games for everyone before the boys ran off to work some more on their fort and one of Franklin’s men took him back to the car and to Springwood. Eleanor, Marion, and Nan must have hugged one another, happy together at last. They were stalwart middle-aged women who had lived other lives in other places. Having now decided to try communal living, they wasted no time getting on with their adventure. The engraved stationery made it official:

  Val-Kill Cottage

  Hyde Park, Dutchess County, New York

  Telephone: Poughkeepsie 428

  Mrs. Franklin D. Roosevelt, Miss Marion Dickerman, Miss Nancy Cook

  A short time later, Stone Cottage was ready for living. The women put out their monogrammed linens, and friends sent gifts of silver, also engraved with the three initials E M N. (The 1922 edition of Emily Post’s book on etiquette recommended five to ten dozen monogrammed small hand towels, perhaps excessive for country living.) Franklin gave them accessories and picnic implements for what he called the “honeymoon cottage,” and he referred to Eleanor, Marion, and Nan as the “Three Graces.” He had chosen a name from Greek antiquity for women of beauty, mirth, and hospitality to the gods. His inscription in a book he gave Marion called Little Marion’s Pilgrimage was open and effusive: “To my little pilgrim, whose progress is always upward and onward, to the things of beauty and the thoughts of love and the like—From her affectionate Uncle Franklin, on the occasion of the opening of the love nest on the Val-Kill.”4

  Eleanor freely conveyed to Franklin her pleasure in the life she shared with Marion and Nan: “I was delighted . . . to say goodbye to Mama and come over here for a quiet evening with Nan. I’ve written two editorials and three letters and we have had supper and the peace of it is divine, but we have to take the 10:05 down tomorrow.”5

  In the early 1970s, after Eleanor’s and Nan’s deaths, when Kenneth Davis interviewed Marion Dickerman in her home in New Canaan, Connecticut, she told him about the book, Little Marion’s Pilgrimage, and the autographed inscription from FDR. She said that businessman Victor Hammer had later “found [the book] somewhere” and returned it to her. She told Davis about (and apparently showed him) an autographed speech from FDR with the inscription, “another first edition for the library of the Three Graces of the Val-Kill.”6

  In calling the cottage the “love nest” in his affectionate inscription, Franklin indulged himself in literary flourishes—he was “Papa”; Marion, the “little pilgrim”; the women were the “three graces.” In appropriating a romantic narrative language, Franklin, a wordsmith when he wanted to be, paid homage to Eleanor, Marion, and Nan. In Greek mythology the three graces are creatures of the male imagination, but over centuries
women have appropriated the image for themselves. An example is The Three Graces: Snapshots of Twentieth-Century Women, by Michal Raz-Russo, a 2012 catalog of an exhibit organized by the Art Institute of Chicago of snapshots of women posed in various ways as the three graces, some outlandish. In tracing the history of an iconic image of women in the first half of the twentieth century, the curator notes that “their engagement with the camera is playful, sultry, and even provocative.” The snapshot Nan Cook made of herself, Eleanor, and Marion on Campobello Island in 1926 fits into that tradition of “self-presentation” (see page 90). Placed among other posed graces of the 1920s, Nan’s snapshot becomes part of what Raz-Russo calls “a continuum of female representation.” Nan had been making snapshots since she was a teenager in Massena, and by the time she had started using a new camera with a self-timer on their trip to Campobello she was experimenting with subject and composition. She captured the three of them in a daring pose on the deck of the summer house. What look does each convey? Marion is self-contained, composed in her expression; Nan is confident, challenging; Eleanor is wary, suspicious. Perhaps each had determined how she would look at the camera, or perhaps it was a moment of spontaneous reaction. Whatever it is, it makes a statement: here we are.

  When Eleanor, Marion, and Nan moved into the cottage together, Eleanor, the only wife and mother in the threesome, had passed her fortieth birthday (she would be forty-two in October), had already celebrated her twentieth wedding anniversary, and was the mother of five. Her oldest child, Anna, was a restless young woman who had not wanted to go to college and would marry soon. James was going from Groton, a residential preparatory school for boys near Boston, to Harvard; still at Groton were Elliott, sixteen, and Franklin, twelve. In another two years John would join his brothers at Groton and Eleanor’s nest would be empty.